I am pursuing a Masters of Fine Arts at the Architectural Association Interprofessional Studio (AAIS) where I define and constantly redefine what being a poet and a director of devised theatre is to me.

Who am I? Well one obviously knows my name, if one has managed to read this far and if one is willing to read further, let us assume, for my sake; that I am a well taught madman. It is peculiar being asked to summarize an abstraction, for the summary shall define the abstraction only momentarily. I am thin air as I am typing, I shall be a puff of fart by tonight; pixie dust in the morning.

Clearly, I am a poet. Shamelessly so.

My sense of self is determined by my poetry.

It is a causality. I am cause I write, I write cause I am. It’s a vicious little shit-show.

I got one thing.

I would not have played, a game of cat and mouse with my own sociability, unless I had something, anything; that one thing that keeps me south of normal. Writing.

I spread the coke

Onto the piece of sourdough.

I was out of marmalade.

My eyes started watering.

I crawled.

I howled.

I growled.

I danced.

I cried.

I laughed.

I have no idea

What I did

How I did it.

Why I did it.

I washed up.

And wiped my ass.

I knew I wanted to write.

Whether I wanted to be

A writer or not

That is a different thing.

But I wanted to write.

The AAIS has simply taught me what I specifically

need to learn for my own Self.

I do not want to be good.

Nor do I wish to be brilliant.

I just want to be true. because that is bottomless.

I do not be the way I write. I write the way I be.